Let Her Be A Child
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: Post S3 Christmas special. Little oneshot that was so beautiful I couldn't get it out of my head. Please enjoy and REVIEW!


**Let Her Be A Child**

_There were no windows in the cells of the Yorkshire Prison. Everything about the place had been designed to break a man, for each man there had to be guilty of something. However, there _was _an innocent man in one of those cells, and each day broke him a little more._

_The cot that he sat on was hard, stuffed with dead straw that bristled and made the stone floor look more appealing. Without a window, no fresh air ever came into the cell. The damp air reeked with the smell of the damp straw and the contents of his chamber pot, which was only emptied once a week. There was no warmth in the heavy air, thanks to the gray stone surrounding him completely. Through the tiny opening of his cell door, he could hear the sounds of the other inmates in the cells near him. Some were fighting, some were cackling, some were crying out in agony…each was worse than the one before._

_Though the cell was barely big enough to house a man, he had never felt so small in his life. Or so helpless. Or so frightened. Tears filled his eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to scream or cry out like all of the others around him. Surely he had more cause or right than them. But he couldn't bring himself to do so, not while he was looking at the small photograph in his hand._

_Anna. His wife, his best friend, his reason to live, to keep going, and stay strong. God knows she was. He couldn't imagine how difficult it must be for her: carrying on with her work as though nothing was wrong, facing the looks and suspicions and whisperings of others, being the wife of a convicted murdered. Soon the widow of one, now that he was sentenced to hang._

_The photograph he held had been taken immediately after his arrest, before the toll had really been taken on Anna. He was filled with horror as her image changed before his eyes: her eyes became bigger, her skin paler, her face drawn, dark circles forming underneath her eyes while tears filled them. As darkness grew around him, distorting the image, the sounds of the other inmates drowned in the sound of Anna's scream when he had been found guilty. It filled his head, echoing and repeating as the photograph slipped from his hands. The sound of it shattering on the cold, stone floor was drowned out by his own cry – _

John Bates woke up with a sharp gasp, his eyes flying open as fresh, cool air filled his lungs. He stayed still while he took in his surroundings. He was not in his prison cell, but rather in a small but well-kept bedroom. The open window brought in moonlight and fresh air from the summer night. He was not sitting, but lying in a large, very comfortable bed, with Anna in his arms.

Sweet relief filled John, and he rested his forehead against Anna's shoulder. He was very glad that he had not waken her up; she still slept peacefully, her back pressed to his chest. He took deep breaths, letting the scent of the fresh air and her own intoxicating scent calm him, root him in reality again. Anna shifted a bit, but remained asleep. Not wanting to wake her up, John placed a feather-light kiss on her cheek before carefully getting out of bed. It being summer, he decided not to put on his robe; his pajamas were more than enough. He softly walked to the window where he could feel the breeze better.

Though nearly six years had passed since he had been released from prison, John still got nightmares from that terrible time in that hellhole. When he'd first gotten out, it had been much more frequent. When he and Anna had moved into the cottage, she had discovered this and comforted him each time until he could peacefully sleep again. He had not been the only one; sometimes it had been Anna who woud suffer a nightmare. Then he would be the one to comfort her and help her fall back asleep. Thankfully, after falling into a wonderful routine of living together, the nightmares came more and more sporadically. Now, they hardly ever came to either of them, but tonight was an exception for John.

Thankfully, it was much easier for John to deal with the nightmares, after six years had passed. He no longer needed Anna to talk him down from his terror, to kiss him until all memories of that horrible place had backed away. At the same time, a part of John did not want to completely forget that he had been through hell. If nothing else that was good had come out of the experience, it had truly taught him to never take what he had for granted: his job here at Downton, his cottage, his wife, and –

The sound of the bedroom door very softly creaking open brought John out of his reverie. He turned his head quickly and his heart melted.

Standing in the small opening of the partially open bedroom door was a tiny figure in a simple white nightgown. Her loose blond curls fell down her back, and in the moonlight John saw that her rosy cheeks were sparkling with tears. Her hazel eyes were on him, the only physical trait she had received from him. _Thank goodness._

Quickly but quietly, not wanting to wake Anna, John crossed the bedroom to the doorway. Her eyes imploring, the little one raised her arms when John stopped in front of her. Immediately, John bent down and scooped her up; to John she wasn't heavy at all, having inherited her mother's petite frame. She immediately snuggled against him, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck as she softly cried on his shoulder. Ever mindful of his sleeping wife, John held his daughter tightly and softly walked out of the bedroom, across the small hallway, and into her bedroom.

Once inside, he made his way to a comfortable rocking chair by her small bed, left from the days she had been a baby. His big hand rubbed her back soothingly as her tears ran out. "What's wrong, _mo cuishle_?" he crooned softly, using the Gaelic endearment his Irish mother, whose name her grandchild now shared, had used for him when he had been a child.

"I had a bad dream, Papa," she replied in her tiny voice.

"Tell me about it."

"I…I was in the attic of the big house…it was dark and dusty...I heard noises all around and monsters came out…"

John resisted the urge to chuckle at his little daughter's nightmare; he'd take a nightmare like that over a prison nightmare any day. But something about her dream gave him pause. Gently, he brought the little one to sit on his lap, facing him. After wiping the tears from her face, he enveloped her small hands in his big ones. Looking at her gently but seriously, he said, "Fiona, when did you go to the attic of Downton?"

Fiona lowered her face and spoke to their joined hands. "Today, Master George and Miss Sybbie wanted to explore it and look for treasure. They asked Mr. Carson to show us, so he took us up. He didn't let us stay for long, and Mr. Carson held my hand, but I didn't like it at all."

John let himself smile and chuckle a bit. As stern and hard as Mr. Carson was when it came to work, he was a complete softie when it came to little children. Nearly five years old, Master George especially had him wrapped around his little finger, having inherited Lady Mary's dignity and the late Mr. Matthew's looks. Little Sybil, having just turned six and the spitting image of her late mother, seemed to have inherited the rebellious streak her parents had shared, so John suspected this adventure had been her idea.

Little Fiona Bates had turned four just two months ago in May, but she had been coming up to Downton with her parents since she had learned to talk. Lady Mary had asked Anna to come back to work for her whenever she felt ready, saying that the nanny who looked after Sybil and George would be happy to look after Fiona while both of her parents worked. The arrangement had worked out wonderfully, for Fiona was learning her letters and numbers right along with the other two children, and it was good for her to have playmates near her age. Both loved and looked out for her like a little sister. A quiet child, sometimes shy, it was good for her to have playmates who could bring her out of her shell.

Seeking to comfort his little one, John smoothed her light hair and said, "You know, Fiona, the attic is not such a scary place. I myself go up there quite often."

Her hazel eyes widened. "You do, Papa?"

John nodded. "Your Mama, too. We sometimes have to go up there and get things down for His Lordship and Lady Mary." And steal kisses if they both had the same errand, but thought it wise to keep that part to himself. "And I can assure you, _mo cuishle_, that there are no monsters or ghosts or anything of the kind in the attic."

"Really?" Fiona asked hopefully.

"Ask Mr. Carson if you don't believe me," said John, a twinkle coming to his eye. "He would never tolerate such a nuisance as monsters or ghosts in Downton Abbey."

The four-year-old giggled at her Papa's silly tone. Feeling completely comforted now, she snuggled against her Papa again. John rocked back and forth in the chair, quietly humming and rubbing her back so she could fall back asleep.

But before she fell asleep completely, she had one more question. "Papa?"

"Yes?" he replied, softly and patiently, still rocking and rubbing her back.

"…Why does Miss Sybbie have a Papa but no Mama, and Master George have a Mama but no Papa?"

John's heart went from melting to breaking a bit at the question his daughter asked. Of course she would wonder about that, and he was glad that she was asking him rather than her playmates. "Well, those are very sad stories, little one. They both lost them when they were born, in tragic and unexpected ways."

Fiona processed this in her young mind before concluding, "They are in heaven now?"

Glad his daughter had come to that conclusion, John nodded. "Yes, they are, watching over their children always. But, Fiona, I do not want you to ask or talk about that with either Miss Sybbie or Master George. If they wish to speak of it, they will, but it is not your place to talk about their parents. Understand?"

Fiona nodded. "Yes, Papa." She was very nearly asleep, when suddenly she asked, her tiny voice full of fear. "You or Mama won't go to heaven now, will you?"

His heart breaking even more, John kissed his daughter's head and held her closer. "I promise you, _mo cuishle, _that neither I nor your Mama would ever choose to leave you like that."

He had chosen his words carefully, his past experience having taught him full well that one can never expect what life brings, but they seemed enough for Fiona, for in a few minutes she was sound asleep. When her breathing was even, John got up and went to her little bed.

After having placed her there and tucked the covers around her, he looked at Fiona for a long moment. In the next, he was getting down on his good knee beside Fiona's bed, near her sleeping face. His leg barely twinged – the warmer the weather, the less bother it was. For long, silent minutes, he watched his daughter sleep.

John had never really been a man of faith, even after having gone through a strict Catholic upbringing by his mother. Anna had a firm faith, but even that had not been enough to give him that same gift. Instead, it had been the birth of their daughter that had finally planted the seed of faith in him. In many ways, he was learning right along with her, under his wife's gentle guidance.

As he watched her, a prayer was created. It was born of the dark memories of his past – the war, his injury, men he had known no longer living, his first wife, prison – and the love he held for his family. John whispered it to his sleeping daughter, slowly as the words formed in his heart:

_She mustn't know the sorror; she mustn't know the tears._

_Tomorrow mustn't bring her a future that she fears._

_How many now lay crying? Their dreams will have to keep._

_How many never have a chance? Tonight, let this one sleep._

_A child is filled with wonder. Let this one's dreams be blessed._

_Don't ever let her wonder if God might love her less._

_She mustn't know what we know; she mustn't be so wise._

_There's time enough for her to see – _

_Just let her be a child for now._

Tears filled his eyes as he said the prayer, his large but gentle hand stroking her head, while the other held her tiny hand. It clutched his fingers even in sleep. John knew he had never prayed so hard in his life.

_She's still so small…She'll never understand…_

_How people fail and lives break down and don't turn out the way you planned._

_For now, save her the sorrow. For now, save her the tears._

_Save grief for somewhere years away – just not today, not here._

_For now, let her be lucky; for now, look down in grace._

_Give her time to learn compassion. _

_Give her time to learn forgiveness._

_Help me find the strength to give this gift to her._

_Only let her be a child…please let her be a child._

_Just let her be a child for now…_

His prayer finished, John wiped his face of the tears and turned his head, sensing someone was bearing witness. Standing in the opening of the bedroom door was the figure of his wife in a simple white nightgown. Her loose blond curls fell down her back, and in the moonlight John saw that her rosy cheeks were sparkling with tears. But her blue eyes sparkled with infinite love and tenderness, while her lips wore a gentle smile. He returned it and stood up, gently letting go of his daughter's hand.

Anna stepped to the bed, and bent down to kiss her daughter's cheek. "Good night, my darling," she breathed. Then John leaned down and kissed his daughter's forehead, whispering, "Sweet dreams, _mo cuishle_."

Then Anna took John's hand and they walked out of Fiona's little moonlit bedroom, softly closing the door behind them.

Once behind the closed door of their room, Anna wrapped her arms around her husband's waist while his hands ran through her lovely hair. "Which one of you had a bad dream?" she asked.

John smiled at his wife's accurate intuition. "The both of us, actually, but we managed to chase them away."

Anna's look reflected the love overflowing in her heart. "How could you ever doubt you would be a good father, John?" she said so tenderly his heart melted again. It had done that a lot in the past six years.

His smile widened as he cupped his wife's cheek. "If I am, it is only because you came into my life." His forehead rested against hers as his next four words carried all the gravity in the world. "Thank you, my love."

"_John…" _Anna moaned, and both were in no doubt of what she meant. His lips pressed to hers as he led her to the bed, both needing to become one and reaffirm a bond so strong, that had survived separation, jealously, hate, injustice, and restrictions, and had blossomed to something so beautiful, it's proof now sleeping peacefully in the next room.

All was right with the world of the Bates family tonight.

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**A/N: **_The prayer is actually a song called "Let Her Be a Child," from the musical of _A Tale of Two Cities. _It's so lovely; always makes me think of Valjean and Cosette, and how I imagine Bates would be with his own daughter by Anna. Please enjoy and REVIEW!_


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